Coilguns' sound jars like a nightmarish apparition; a dystopian response to their world, bristling with the angst and disillusion Morello et al so memorably expunged. Unlike a lot of artists their name isn't a vestigial limb without purpose, they even include a definition for clarity of their sonic ambition, to "discharge projectiles at extremely high velocity." The repercussions are quite obvious, as we might expect: an intense barrage of guttural abstractions - but there is a purpose to the apocalyptic aggression.

The title, C O M M U T E R S, when juxtaposed with the sound suggests a complete disconnection from the rolling wheel of society. Needless to say Coilguns appear to be isolated from this world to which they are unable to relate. So it makes sense that their version, or translation of the world should not slip comfortably into the parameters of the 'norm'. It's a statement of the overload of information which transposes itself as unintelligible through their prism of experience and calls for a different voice of expression.

The sprawling dramatics of 'Earthians' exemplifies this vision as we are engulfed in the abstract. Focus is upon the deficit of attention and bristling ferocity that makes comment on modern life as shrouded in a frenetic mask. With purposefully jarring passages that claw for attention and recognition as a wake-up call, the record works as extension of experience related directly and without apology. There are hints on 'Blunderbuss Committee' and 'Commuters Part 2', in the wallowing feedback and asphyxiated vocal, that a robotic and technological age of futurism is upon us. Despite this reliance on technology to create their noise, Coilguns are incredibly indebted to the human element, with each track feeling like a gigantic heave and struggle to the death.

As an encompassing experience C O M M U T E R S leaves no drop of sweat to be earned, and is a monumental digression away from popular expectation. But where there is weakness is in the detail. There are occasional, minute accents a lá METZ such as on 'Minkowski Manhattan Distance', but on the whole any attempts at subtlety are entirely drowned. The vocal wheezes beneath cataclysmic rhythms to no poignant avail, being the least prominent aspect of the arrangement. While there are allusions to sub-surface activity in the breaks of 'Flippists/Privateers' these textures are either too vague or non-existent.

What the record lacks is a voice to convey the spirit of the movement. At their best on 'Earthians' all aspects coagulate to intrigue with rapped vocals and understated presentation. There is also suggested meaning in the song title itself which is telling of their interpretation of life, seeing others as beings without recognisable features. Rather than fully experiencing what they may have wanted to convey we get the echo of their world and not the actual experience of it. There could be an argument which says the abstraction is completely purposeful, representing the unclear nature of the world. But it would be much improved by offering more points of entry to an audience who may find themselves otherwise stranded by the extent of obscurity.